


The Rubble

by theskywasblue



Series: Summer of Love 2020 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25536355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: Dean has had about a million wet dreams that involve being this close to Cas.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Summer of Love 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816525
Comments: 4
Kudos: 103





	The Rubble

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Accidental Stimulation" - Which it only kind of is, but oh well.

“I’m sorry,” Cas rasps, adjusting the press of his body against Dean’s in a way that does nothing at all helpful. His voice is even less helpful, up close against Dean’s ear, breath damp against the side of Dean’s neck. Dean has had way too many fantasies like this for it to be anything short of spectacular; but he still sort of wants the rest of the house to just fall down and crush him, already.

“It’s fine, Cas. You can’t h-help it.”

He can feel the hard line of Cas’ cock pressed against his ass. Cas has all his focus on trying not to crush Dean with his body weight, but everything is close and hot, and they’re touching _everywhere_.

Dean is going to die, one way or the other.

He swallows, hard - his throat feels raw from yelling for Sam - and tries to rub some of the dirt and grime off his face onto the side of his arm. The movement causes Cas to grunt, softly, and Dean can see his elbow trembling in the semi-dark, just inches away.

“You doin’ okay, Cas?”

Cas shifts, panting a little, and Dean has to bite his own lip to keep from making a sound. He’s glad that Cas can’t see the way his own dick is straining against the front of his jeans. Dean has had about a million wet dreams that involve being this close to Cas, particularly lately, since they started...whatever it is they’ve started. Sam, because he’s a fucking asshole, calls it _courting_ , with a dry laugh every time he says it. It’s lots of talking, and sitting close together, and so much painfully chaste touching that Dean sometimes wants to _scream_ ; there’s even been a kiss or two (also way too chaste for Dean’s liking. He hasn’t kissed with so little tongue involved since he was in middle school) but Cas has never asked for anything else, and Dean’s not even sure he knows how to. Dean’s messed around with guys - he knows he fucking likes it, too - but Cas is his friend, his _best_ friend, and there are no second chances anymore. He’d rather spend the rest of his life changing his sheets every morning than risk ruining what they have (again.)

“I have a little room,” Cas says, finally. “I just can’t…” 

The rubble above them creaks, and Dean can guess Cas is pushing against it with his shoulders, trying to budge it; but the effort only pushes him more tightly against Dean.

From what Dean knows, or thinks he knows, Cas is technically still an angel. It’s an essential part of his being, as unchangeable as Sam’s towering height. But with Chuck dead, Cas can’t perform miracles anymore. He's functionally human, even if he still doesn’t strictly need certain essential human things, like sleep and food. All the power granted to the angels by God’s grace is gone, like a plug pulled out the universe, and the Earth is just a muddy marble careening through space.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas’ voice is hoarse. A drop of sweat hits the back of Dean’s neck, making him shudder.

“Don’t worry about it. Sam’ll find us. Or Jack. Eventually.” He’s not sure who to hope for at this point. Sam is bad enough with the looks and innuendos, but Jack still doesn’t always know when to keep his mouth shut.

Cas takes a long breath, ragged. He’s trying so hard not to move even an inch that it must fucking _burn_. Dean’s arms ache in sympathy, along with his dick. His left shoulder, which took the brunt of the impact of that last hit before the damned house collapsed, feels like it’s on fire, and he desperately wants to just drop forward to his elbows for a bit, to take some of the pressure off, but that would be massively unfair to Cas, who is already obviously struggling not to rub himself off on Dean’s ass like a horny teenager.

It’s kind of flattering, actually. And, fuck, if they’re going to maybe die in the collapsed wreckage of a haunted house, then they might as well, right?

“Cas, do you maybe wanna just…” Dean bumps back, purposefully, against Cas, making him groan breathlessly and rock his hips forward like, thank fuck, he gets it. “My knees are probably too old for it, but…”

Cas pushes his hand up under Dean’s shirt, across his chest, and Dean’s whole body vibrates, helplessly. It’s the most of Cas’ skin that he’s ever had against his own, but it’s never not good. 

“I want to,” Cas says. His voice sounds twice as wrecked as usual. “I’ve always wanted to.” He pulls his hand back, finds the front of Dean’s jeans instead, rests there, with just a little pressure. Dean sees stars behind his eyelids. 

“You need an engraved invitation, or what?”

The metallic clatter of Dean’s belt is obscenely loud in the cramped space. Dean moves to help and Cas makes a ragged sound, abandoning the job to work at getting his own pants out of the way. Dean barely gets his zipper down and Cas is grabbing a handful of his waistband, pulling Dean’s jeans and underwear down over his ass. Immediately, Dean can feel Cas’ thighs bumping his, then Cas’ cock pushing eagerly against his ass, nudging up behind his balls. He can hear the back of Cas’ shoulders scraping the rubble above them as he tries to get leverage in the pathetically small space. 

A blunt nail drags over Dean’s nipple through his shirt, pulling a sharp groan from deep in his throat. Cas’ mouth is on the back of his neck, sucking, biting; and fuck, normally Dean likes it like this - messy, rough - but he’d give anything to see Cas’ face right now. All he can do is stretch an arm back, his shirt snagging and tearing on a jagged bit of wood, and tangle his fingers in Cas’ hair. 

“Dean.” It sounds like a sob, heavy and breathless. Dean twists his head back as far as he can, so Cas can stretch over him and half-kiss him, slick and full of tongue, before dragging his mouth along Dean’s jaw and sucking a mark beneath his ear. 

“Dean - I want - I want to -“ his hand slides low on Dean’s belly, fingers pushing through his pubic hair; and Dean learns real quick that he’s absolutely not above begging for it. 

“Yeah Cas - fucking c’mon - touch me, please. _Please_.”

Cas’ hand curls around his cock, and instantly everything is good - the burn in his knees, the hot drag of Cas’ cock between his thighs, the bite of the old wood floor against his palms. Each pull of Cas’ hand draws heat deep into Dean’s gut until he’s groaning out loud, and Cas’ gasping mouth is leaving wet patches all over the back of Dean’s shirt. 

He feels Cas tensing above him, his motions of his hand becoming uneven. Dean rocks into him, trying to keep the pace up, finally reaches down and gets his hand around Cas’. As soon as their fingers curl together, Cas groans, coming in hot spurts between Dean’s thighs. 

“Fuck,” Dean hisses, frantic, almost ready to snap. Cas’ hand squeezes around the length of his cock, and it’s all Dean can handle. He comes like a gut punch, gasping lungfuls of the hot, dusty air, his throat burning with Cas’ name. 

Reality creeps back in slowly. Everything below Dean’s knees is a hot ache, Cas is draped heavily over his back, one hand mindlessly petting Dean’s stomach as his come cools in a sticky mess on the backs of Dean’s thighs. 

“Cas,” he manages at last, trying to shift forward. “Could you -“

Cas tries to push himself up, but his head hits the rubble above, sending a shower of dust raining down on them both. “Dammit.”

Dean, his brain still soft with endorphins, starts to laugh. This sets Cas off, and he loses his balance, falling against Dean again, knocking him to the floor. 

“Dean?”

At first, Sam’s voice isn’t enough to snap him out of it. It isn’t until he hears the sound of the rubble shifting that Dean feels a surge of panic, realizing his pants are still down around his thighs. 

“Dean, are you there?”

Dean just manages to get his jeans up, and mostly zip his fly. His hands are shaking too much to manage the belt. “Yeah Sam - I’m here!”

The rubble shifts again, and Dean has never been so glad to have the Jolly Green Giant as a little brother. “Where’s Cas?”

“We’re both here, Sam,” Cas answers, and Dean has exactly thirty seconds to hope that Cas has managed to get himself mostly squared away before an opening appears, and Dean surges forward into the open air.

“I couldn’t raise you guys on the walkie -” Sam is babbling, his hands reflexively patting Dean down, checking for injuries. “What about the ghost? Did you -“ he chokes off whatever he was going to say when Dean manages to pull himself up to his full height. Sam’s mouth flaps soundlessly for a moment before he manages, bright red, “Oh- _kay_. Guys. Seriously?”

Dean knows he’s standing there with his belt undone, his shirt a hand-twisted mess, a hickey burning on the side of his neck. Cas looks less ruined, but his shirt is tucked on only one side and his hair is whipped into a frenzy where Dean’s fingers were tangled in it. There’s no point in even trying for innocence. 

“Sam!” Jack’s voice calls from somewhere in the dark, “Did you find them?”

Taking what might be his only chance to escape the most awkward moment of his life, Sam bolts towards the sound of Jack’s voice. Dean tries to ignore the way his ears are burning and works on his belt buckle with half-numb hands. 

“Let me get that,” Cas says, stepping around him. 

“Thanks,” Dean mutters. He makes a halfhearted attempt to pat Cas’ hair down, knowing it’s useless. It’s pale with drywall dust, and there’s grime all over Cas’ face that he wants to wipe away. “Gotta get you in the shower, man. You’re a mess.”

“I know,” Cas says, and there’s a spark in Cas’ eye that Dean would have to be a total moron to mistake for anything other than what it is. “I think we could both use one.”

-End-


End file.
